


every version of yourself

by fuck_the_birds



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Met on the Ark Station (The 100), Gay Panic, M/M, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuck_the_birds/pseuds/fuck_the_birds
Summary: Miller needs a biology tutor and Jackson needs a friend, but Miller wants to be more than friends.
Relationships: Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	every version of yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stormkpr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormkpr/gifts).



> prompt: "Miller and Jackson on the Ark."
> 
> thank you for the prompt and donation!
> 
> betaed by my sisters [ThankChuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThankChuu) and [all_soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_soul)

“What’s a monomer?”

“The molecular subunit of a polymer,” Jackson replies, squinting at the label on the pill bottle in his hand. Miller watches him uncap his pen with his mouth, holding the cap between his teeth as he scribbles something down on the clipboard balanced on his knee. Standing like that he would topple over if someone were to blow on him, but Miller kind of admires the practiced ease with which Jackson holds the position. Besides, they’re two feet apart in an eight-by-eight medical supply closet; it’s not like Miller wouldn’t be able to catch him if he fell. 

He’s reading too much into this. 

“Huh.” Miller leans against the wall, dropping his gaze back down to the biology flashcards Jackson made him make. “I thought it was the powerhouse of the cell.”

“That’s the mitochondria.” Jackson recaps the pen and drops it on his medical cart, replacing the pill bottle on the shelf. 

“Damn. Again.” So far, Miller’s thought every other study term that starts with ‘m’ is the mitochondria. It’s getting kind of embarrassing, honestly. He continues to absentmindedly shuffle the cards, focusing instead on Jackson’s long fingers trailing across the edge of the shelf as he searches for whatever he’s to take inventory of next. 

Jackson’s back is to Miller but gentle encouragement is present in his voice when he says, “You’ll get it.”

It’s dumb how quickly that makes Miller feel better.

He thought getting tutored for biology would be a lot worse than this is. Passing the class is a guard requirement, so he’d tried getting Clarke to help him out only to get redirected to her mom’s medical apprentice. He’d had his reservations about asking someone he didn’t know to tutor him for free-- he didn’t have anything of value to trade, and he was trying to lie low with his… _hobby_ that could land him something nice to exchange since security on the Ark is currently in one of it’s doubled-down phases. But Clarke had insisted that Jackson, who’s a couple years older than him and according to Clarke “needed friends who weren’t her mom,” wouldn’t mind. That particular detail had given Miller a whole new set of concerns, but those doubts had been quelled within five minutes of his first meeting with his new tutor; who is actually pretty cool. 

Well, as cool as a young guy married to his studies can be, but Miller has never been one to hold friends to high standards. He only cares if they’re somewhat decent people, which Jackson most definitely is (and beyond). It helps a little that Jackson’s loner tendencies come off as nerd-cute, but Miller’s not about to let his mind wander there in regards to his tutor.

Nope.

Totally not.

His impulse control has always been shit.

“Hey, you ever been to one of the parties on Farm?” He’s mastered layering a casual tone over his nerves. Miller keeps his eyes down on the cards, waiting for Jackson’s response as a cue to look up.

“Closest thing to a party I’ve been to is sharing half a cup of moonshine with my roommates,” Jackson says, hunched over his clipboard with his pen braced against the paper though he’s not writing anything. There’s a silent “So, no” punctuating his statement. Miller wonders if they’re doing the same thing: waiting on a signal from the other to make eye contact, push the conversation past the safe-zone of biology and small talk. Get-to-know-each-other-but-just-well-enough-so-we’re-not-exactly-strangers type questions. 

This is stupid. Miller’s never been held back by nerves, and he’s sure as hell not about to lose that courage when it counts. He lifts his eyes and they linger for a moment on Jackson’s turned back. Is the tension between his shoulders a sign that he’s anticipating what Miller’s about to say, or has it always been there? No, that’s just how Jackson holds himself; it didn’t take a long history of acquaintanceship for Miller to recognize that. He is momentarily distracted by the thought of pressing his finger between Jackson’s shoulder blades until they relax. 

The tautness of Jackson’s muscles might be a doctor thing-- Miller doesn’t know many doctors, but he knows they’re sparse on the Ark, so every single one of them, apprentices included, have to be ready to drop everything at any given moment. So it adds up. But whereas he can imagine Clarke’s mom Dr. Griffin unwinding at the end of a long day, he can’t fathom Jackson doing the same. The tension he holds seems deeper than a doctor’s coat he can shrug on and off, like it’s been ingrained in his DNA. There’s a question on the tip of Miller’s tongue about where it came from, but he bites it back, and he keeps his hands busy with the flashcards instead of reaching for that spot. Miller’s pretty sure that’s a topic far past the line of where they are in their relationship. 

Not that he’s afraid to scare Jackson away; Jackson’s quiet, but Miller’s witnessed his casual wit and strong will around other apprentices. He wouldn’t shy away from giving Miller a rejection if he felt the need, and knowing Jackson, he’ll do it with kindness, too. 

For some reason, that’s the realization that makes Miller’s throat go dry. 

Miller’s asked out guys before; he wouldn’t exactly go as far as to call himself smooth, but he’s close for his age and experience. And despite the decision to make a move on Jackson being no less out of nowhere than the majority of those attempts, there’s a weight to it hitting him like a ton of metal and preventing him from finishing what he started. Ugh, what is wrong with him?

Before he can sink deeper into his foreign whirlpool of self reflection, he’s looking into Jackson’s eyes, and-- _Oh._

“Think you can show me a better party, Miller?” Jackson’s tone is lighter than Miller’s ever heard it, his lips curving up into a smile, and holy fuck, Miller’s familiar with Jackson’s smirk but he’s never seen pure undiluted warmth bubble up and melt into his wide, painfully expressive eyes and--

Oh, shit, he has to respond. “I was gonna say that,” he says dumbly, clearing his throat.

“I figured.” Jackson’s still grinning, like he’s aware what he’s doing to Miller, and Miller’s seriously starting to think Jackson’s not as innocent as he seems. Miller should be surprised, but part of him isn’t; “nerd-cute” got Miller’s attention, but the gentle-yet-alive fire flickering in Jackson’s eyes, smile, and voice right now is what dragged him in this far.

Here goes nothing. “My friends are idiots,” he blabbers. 

Jackson arches an amused eyebrow. 

“I mean,” Miller sighs, flattening the flashcards between his moist hands-- Jesus Christ, the ink is probably going to smear. He fights a wince. _Get a grip_. “I have friends on Farm. They’re idiots, but they’re not so bad.” He swallows, mentally cursing himself for offering to bring Jackson of all people to one of Monty and Jasper’s parties. But Jackson doesn’t seem deterred, so he continues, “They’ve got more than a cup of moonshine to go around, if you’re interested.”

“Legal or nah?”

“Depends on the day,” Miller shrugs. “They’ve got a pretty tight system though, so it should be fine.”

“You’re asking me to risk getting floated in exchange for a full cup of moonshine?” There is no judgement in Jackson’s tone, and he hasn’t stopped smiling that fucking radiant smile. Why the hell would he hide this side of himself around others, choosing to duck his head down and let the room swallow him up when he apparently has the ability to be the brightest light in this floating gray hunk of a home? Miller can’t be the only one who sees this; if he is he’ll eat his beanie. 

“I’m asking you to risk getting floated in exchange for a full cup of moonshine... with me?” Miller has regained enough of his bearings to feign uncertainty, purposefully toying with Jackson. Two can play at this game, even if Jackson’s currently in the lead.

Jackson simply hums, and suddenly there’s a hand on Miller’s hip guiding him out of the way as he reaches behind where Miller is standing for a plastic crate containing bags of saline. He turns again, placing it up on the shelf so Miller can’t see his face when he replies, “Then sure. But I’m quitting being your tutor if I get floated. Speaking of, what’s your next vocab word? You said you have forty eight, and so far we’ve gotten through...”

“Three,” Miller finishes, unable to care less about cell biology right now. Joy buzzes through his veins. Huh. Clarke’s plan for Jackson to tutor him backfired after all, just not in the way he expected. He should thank her. 

Jackson throws him a look over his shoulder, hardly a glance, but Miller finds himself savoring it anyway and imagining what it would be like to stare into those eyes for as long as he wants. God, he’s so smitten it’s almost embarrassing.

“What are you waiting for?” Jackson grunts, standing on his toes and swiping his arm around for an item far back on the shelf, oblivious to the shooting stars streaking across Miller’s vision. 

He glances down at his flashcards, half of the word “polymer” stamped where it had been pressed against his sweaty palm like a bad tattoo.

This doctor is going to be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found [here.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bee-thegoodguys)


End file.
